About halfway through running the Boston Marathon last year, Jean-Paul Bedard collapsed on the pavement, crying.

Weeks before the race, the Toronto man had finally opened up to his family and friends about sexual abuse he suffered as a child. Acknowledging the abuse was a big step forward, and helped Bedard reconcile years of depression, drug use and alcoholism.

In fact, it had been through Alcoholics Anonymous years before that he turned his life around and discovered a new addiction: running.

But halfway through the 42.5-kilometre race, those dark childhood memories churning fresh in his mind, Bedard became overwhelmed by grief.

As he stumbled to the curb and choked back tears, medical aides pulled him into a tent. They questioned whether he could finish.

“I tried to explain that I wasn’t physically hurt. Just emotionally,” said Bedard, 47.

He eventually pulled himself together and got back on the road. After four hours, he crossed the finish line to hug his wife, Mary-Anne.

“He was just a mess,” said Mary-Anne Bedard, 46. “But I knew the place he was in.”

Then, 20 minutes later, chaos erupted. The first of two pressure-cooker bombs went off, firing torrents of shrapnel into the crowd.

As the Canadian couple tried to flee into the subway, the second bomb detonated. The orderly finish line dissolved into a mob, screaming and frantic.

“This wave of people hit us, hysterical people coming past us. It just doesn’t compute in your head,” said Mary-Anne Bedard.

It was a traumatic day for the couple, but especially so for Jean-Paul. Days after returning home, Bedard’s doctor diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder. He was told to take five months off work.

“I was suffering. With the childhood abuse and the Boston bombing, it was an accumulation of everything,” said the English teacher.

At the time, he vowed to never to return to Boston.

“I was in shock. I realized how close we were to dying over some stupid run,” he said.

In the months after the bombing, Bedard couldn’t focus. An English teacher and avid reader, he couldn’t bring himself to read a book or even watch TV. He spent days listening to podcasts while sitting in his veranda.

Still, as he had for 16 years, he went for his morning run.

He eventually found strength through the Gatehouse Treatment Centre, a Toronto charity that helps survivors of sexual abuse. It was there that he changed his mind about returning to Boston.

“I’ve learned that it’s really important to go back to that place of trauma, no matter where it is, and confront it,” he said. “For me, it’s in Boston.”

With that new-found determination, Bedard plans to return to Boston this April to run a “double Boston Marathon,” an 84.4-kilometre feat of endurance rarely attempted by runners.

He plans to first run the race backwards, from finish line to start, before turning around and running back again. Accounting for an hour-long break, the race will probably take him just over eight hours.

It may sound crazy, but for Bedard it seems totally feasible. Each Sunday he runs between 40 and 60 kilometres across Toronto, and last year represented Canada in an 89-kilometre ultra-marathon in South Africa.

Adding up his hours, Bedard ran 624 hours last year — that’s 26 days of running, non-stop.

“It is my religion at this point,” said Bedard, who said he wants to be buried with his first Boston Marathon medal. (He has eight.)

A handful of “rogue runners” attempt the double Boston each year, which is where Bedard got the idea. While race organizers don’t officially sanction the double marathon, Bedard got special clearance from the race director.

He sees the two-part race as a metaphor.

“It’s rewinding what happened last year and replaying the tape going the other direction,” Bedard said. “It’s about bringing this story back to a happier place than we left off.”

To bring his story full-circle, Bedard will raise money for the Gatehouse Treatment Centre in Toronto. He credits the program with bringing order back to his life, by connecting him with others who had recently unearthed their own childhood abuse.

“The Gatehouse has been a lifesaver for me, it’s important for me to give back,” he said.

After just one day, the fundraiser had already garnered over $1,300 in donations.

More on thestar.com

We value respectful and thoughtful discussion. Readers are encouraged to flag comments that fail to meet the standards outlined in our
Community Code of Conduct.
For further information, including our legal guidelines, please see our full website
Terms and Conditions.